sex and the married writer
There, I said it. Sex. Shall I spell it out for you? S-E-X.
To say I have sex on the brain tonight would be an understatement, but sadly…the brain is the only place I’m having it.
Maybe I should explain…
I’ve been writing the ever popular, highly anticipated sex scene for my current work in progress, and I’m finding it to be a bit more exciting than I remembered from the last time I wrote sex into a book. After all, writing about sex is infinitely less sexy than actually having sex. But maybe I’m just having a bit more fun with it this time. Or rather, my characters are having a lot of fun with it. I’m struggling for different ways to say things without sounding like I’m writing about my rooster again.
And it’s not because I’m afraid of those words…I’m not. Ok, maybe I am. Although, I have no idea why. Though, they do make me giggle a little…and cringe a lot.
It could have something to do with the look on my husband’s face when I let him sample the chapter I’d just finished. His mouth actually dropped open…like mouths do in movies when someone is totally shocked. Then he just stared at me…his horrified expression shifting from me to the laptop and back again. And then he stammered out, “You can’t…I mean…you can’t write this…what if kids read it?” To which I reminded him, “I’m not writing books for kids.”
Then the really embarrassing part happened. He wondered if I’d ever done any of those things I’d written. Because, hey, I put some crazy stuff in there. Things I wouldn’t admit to if I had done them. And just for the record, I’ve never had sex with a magician, in the woods, in the middle of the night, on the coldest night of the year…nope.
Do you think it’s possible to be jealous of a fictional character?
I suspect maybe I just shocked him. Although, it wouldn’t be the first time. I have a pretty good record when it comes to shock factor. I think that’s the primary reason he steers clear of my blog, if at all possible.
It’s probaby for the best. The inner workings of a writer’s mind are not meant for the faint of heart. Or the analytical husband. My brain is like a maze of scary passageways leading to even more frightening destinations. And sometimes sex. It all depends on what path you choose.
Care to see what’s behind door number three?
Until the next time…I’ll be giggling as I type.